


Sunday Afternoons

by NaomiJameston



Series: Always Together [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Because everyone deserves one, F/M, Happily Ever After, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione's parents, SO FLUFFY, just fluff, like seriously, no real plot, sweet and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiJameston/pseuds/NaomiJameston
Summary: Hermione muses on her past, her present, and the hint of the future to come. Short and sweet, very fluffy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Monica Wilkins/Wendell Wilkins
Series: Always Together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717558
Comments: 23
Kudos: 148





	Sunday Afternoons

After the War, the days blended together. Weeks passed, months, then years. Lives moved on. People moved on. But not Hermione. She quietly stepped away from the Wizarding World- too tired, she said; I just need a little time to breathe in a place where no one knows me. And they believed her, the fools. Of course she needed some time, they said. That brilliant mind of hers; she’d worked so hard during the War. Go rest yourself, dear. And heavens knew she was so young; let her go sow some of her wild oats. She had almost felt guilty for leaving.

Of course they were all shocked when her death was announced the following spring. No one saw it coming- no one saw her anymore; not even Harry and Ron. They’d been as shocked as any when the Daily Prophet posted that her death had been announced in a Muggle newspaper the previous week. A random mugging. Her memorial had already passed with few attendees, and she had been buried without fuss. The two end points of her trio had visited her grave with solemn expressions, large bouquets of flowers, and an even larger entourage of reporters. Harry’s sobs over her grave were front page news for weeks.

Hermione turned a page in her journal. She’d pasted the Prophet clippings with some hesitation. She’d hated- still did- the pain she’d caused her beloved friends, but it was necessary. There were some things that the Wizarding World expected from their heroes and an illicit affair resulting in an unwed pregnancy was not the image they had in mind for Hermione Granger.

She chuckled. Well, not Granger anymore. At least she’d followed tradition that far. She’d gone through several mediators to get her marriage license filed quietly and without any question why a dead woman was getting married. It had taken a long time and had cost her more galleons than she wanted to think about, but it was long over.

She flipped another page. Harry’s wedding had been a grand affair; much grander than either he or Ginny would have wanted, but again- there was a price for being a hero. Though both Harry and Ginny beamed from the poster-sized front page, anyone who knew them could see the pinch by their eyes, the too-bright smiles to hide the clenched teeth. Ron was worse at hiding it and he scowled from the background with his fiance tucked under his arm. Their wedding the following winter was much smaller and most of the attendees were related to the couple. Hermione spared an amused wink with the twins guarding a large tent on the Burrow lawn.

The following page was covered with birth announcements- Ron and Lavender’s first was born just over one year after their wedding. Three more followed in rapid succession before Harry and Ginny had their first. Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. James Sirius? Really? But still, she understood the need for a connection to the past. She was keeping this very journal for that reason, wasn’t she? Her child would want to see it someday, to understand where she came from. To know that the choices her parents had made were-

“Mum?” a voice called through the open window. “Mum, you promised you’d help with this!”

Hermione shook herself ruefully. She fell too easily into the past these days, but it was important to remember. For herself, for her daughter, for-

“Hermione, do not make me fetch you,” a much deeper voice carried on the wind. Though she’d heard it every day for the last ten years, it still caused her heart to race and her face to flush. She’d spent most of the first year they dated in a constant state of nervous arousal and though the nerves had faded-

“Mum!” her daughter called again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Hermione responded. She tucked the clippings she had left into the empty pages of her journal and carefully set it down in her office desk. It nestled into several old copies of the Prophet, most of them detailing her abrupt departure from the Wizarding World. She hadn’t added most of those to her journal but she kept them anyway.

She ran a finger down the cover, resting her finger gently along the edge of her own wedding picture. It was Muggle and didn’t move, but she could almost see the leaves dancing and her veil caught in a breeze. She could almost smell the marigolds that had lined the path in their garden and feel the weight of the sunflowers in her bouquet. It had been a perfect spring day, not long after they’d moved to Australia. Rose had been a tiny newborn but she’d been awake through the whole ceremony and never cried once.

Someone cleared their throat gently and Hermione jumped guiltily before turning to the door where her mother stood watching her. The older woman grinned widely as Hermione slid the desk door closed gently.

“I’ve been sent to fetch you,” she announced. “Rose was starting to talk about magicking you down somehow, but I stalled her.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to disappoint,” Hermione laughed. “If any child could figure out how to get me out that window without hurting me, she’d be the one.”

“I suspect she wasn’t worried about injury. You do remember when she leapt off the roof last year?”

“In my defense,” Hermione said as she linked arms with her mother and walked down the hallway, “I didn’t tell her she could fly. I told her that I have flown and she somehow came to the conclusion that I was hiding her wings from her and the only way to break the curse was to need them.”

“Hmm. Sounds like another little girl I used to know. My own daughter once…” but her mother’s voice faded and her eyes blanked. Hermione grimaced before she turned a soft gaze to the woman who had the body of her mother but not her mind.

“I know, Monica. I’m sure she was a sweet child, much like my own Rose. And I’m glad you’re here to be the grandmother my daughter needed.”

Monica shook herself. “Oh, I’m happy to be, dear. Our house was so quiet with just Wendell and me, but then you all moved in and here we are! So hard to believe how much time has passed.”

Hermione’s lips lifted into something resembling a smile but the melancholy within it was obvious. “Yes, I was just thinking something similar. It’s hard to believe how long it’s been since we lived in England, but it’s for the best.”

“And who knows, maybe Rose will go to that fancy school of yours,” Monica said. She opened the front door and deftly caught a rushing Rose. “Goodness, child. I already have your mother!”

“But you were taking so long, Gram!” Rose cried with a devious grin.

“Uh huh. And this has absolutely nothing to do with the cookies I left in the kitchen? Certainly your grandfather didn’t tell you to fetch him one.” Monica asked with a mock glare. Rose gasped in mock dismay.

“I would never try to sneak into the kitchen and steal some, Gram! And I certainly wouldn’t try sneaking the whole plate out to share with my beloved father and granddad. That would be… dreadful.” She swept an arm to her forehead with the drama of a trained Shakespearean actress but misjudged and instead smacked her overly large nose with the back of her hand.

Hermione struggled mightily to hold back a grin but Rose’s offended glare told her she hadn’t been successful. She winked at the girl and said, “Tell you what. You can have one cookie now and I’ll make sure there’s cheesecake after dinner. But leave the plate in the kitchen. If the menfolk want cookies, they can hunt and gather for themselves.”

Rose’s eyes glittered and she was off like a shot to the kitchen before Hermione had fully registered her “Thanks, Mom!” Monica slid a sly glance to Hermione as they passed through the door to the driveway where two men stood, surveying something on the concrete. One gestured, and the other knelt to grab a bit of colored chalk and draw something. He made a long sweeping motion with the chalk, handling it with the same sureness that she’d once admired to the point of obsession. And though she still admired his surety, she knew now that it was a front to cover the nerve damage he retained from Nagini's attack.

“Wasn’t there a certain young woman who declared long and loud that she’d never allow any child of hers to have sweets before dinner? That they’d rot her teeth and all that?” Monica smirked.

Hermione felt her face flush again and she smoothed down her shirt to distract herself. “Yes, well. Sundays are special.”

“Indeed they are,” her husband spoke from his position on the ground. He set aside the chalk and wiped his hands on his slacks. As casually as she could, Hermione offered him a hand. Though he scoffed at it, she felt the weakness in his arm as he used her as an anchor to hoist himself up. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to kiss the top of her head. They both ignored his trembling limbs as he fought for balance against her. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Hello, yourself,” Hermione said as she snuggled into his embrace.

Though the last decade had been less stressful than his previous three and good health had filled out his figure, Severus sported a few long grey hairs and had several wrinkles around his eyes. The tremors in his hands and legs had lessened through the years but were still pronounced when he overexerted himself. He still had nightmares and woke her in the middle of the night with his tossing. Or perhaps her own. Perhaps they shared nightmares. They had plenty of shared horrific memories. She shook herself and turned her attention to the other man.

“Hello, Wendell. Fancy meeting you here. Don’t you live in your own house?” she teased. Her father gave a hearty laugh.

“As often as we’re here, we should just sell our place, huh? But nah, you’d get sick of us within a fortnight, I’m sure,” he grinned. Monica smacked him on the belly as she tucked herself under his arm.

“Oh stop teasing,” she said. Wendell lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back. They smiled at each other and Hermione felt momentarily as though she was intruding. She leaned into Severus’ arm and purred under her breath as he pulled her in close. His movement strong now, he gently slid a hand along the edge of her neck. His fingers dipped to brush along her collarbone, sending shivers of sensation racing directly to her middle. She arched and-

“I’m back!” Rose suddenly shouted as she bounded down the front steps. She slid to a stop by her parents, sliding between them to grin from one to the other. “What do you think?”

“I think that you enjoyed that cookie far too much, young lady,” Severus said with a stern look. He licked the end of one sleeve and ran it across Rose’s cheek as she squirmed away with a shriek. A chase ensued with Rose only steps ahead of her father and shrieking with laughter. Severus’ laughter was a bit breathier and harsher, thanks to age and damage to his vocal cords, but every bit as sweet. Hermione watched them, leaning back gently against the closed garage door.

“That’s just right,” Monica said as she and Wendell watched Severus and Rose. “That’s how Sundays should be.”

Hermione nodded, feeling the prick of tears against the back of her eyes but she fought them down. Yes, she had effectively banished herself from the Wizarding World and all of the people there that she loved, and yes, her parents had no idea who she was beyond their neighbor. But she also had a loving husband, a rambunctious daughter, and two people who had adopted themselves as her parents without knowing the real connection between them. And no, they might not ever remember, but they were happy and so was she.

Rose ran shrieking behind her mother, who held her hands up to forestall Severus’ chase.

“I’m calling a truce, guys,” she said and her husband and daughter whinged in unison. Hermione set her hands on her hips. “I can make those cookies disappear, you know.”

Wendell chuckled. “So can I! But Rose, why don’t you show us your artwork?”

Rose popped out from behind Hermione. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot! Mum, Dad’s helping me with plants.”

She pointed to the concrete where a very intricate drawing of a delicate plant had been rendered in chalk. It was a very large plant with a strong stem and beautiful purple flowers. Hermione could see the firm hand of her husband in the curve of a petal, and the less sure but no less sincere hand of her daughter beneath it.

Hermione turned to Severus and with a quirk of an eyebrow, she said, “Wolfsbane? Really?”

“Excuse you, that is clearly monkshood,” he sniffed.

“They’re the same thing,” Rose said. “And it also goes by Aconite.”

Hermione laughed and ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Goodness, but I wonder where you learned that.”

Rose grabbed some white chalk. “Do you want to see an asphodel?”

“I really do,” Hermione said with a smile. Rose set to her task with single-minded ferocity and Hermione watched her fondly. She could see herself at that age, so sure and certain that she was right, that the world didn’t know anything- She’d been stupid, but she’d learned.

“Are you all right?” Severus mumbled in her ear. Hermione sniffed, not realizing that she’d been crying, and turned to bury her face in her husband’s chest. She breathed deep of his scent- soil and sweat and something so uniquely him. It calmed her and she was able to face her daughter a moment later with clear eyes.

“Done!” Rose declared. She stood and watched her family admire her drawing. The adults oohed and ahhed over it appropriately and Rose nodded with a wide grin. “I’m going to know so much when I go to Hogwarts!”

Hermione burst out laughing. “At least as much as I did, my love. And that’s quite a lot. But for now, why don’t you go wash your hands for dinner?”

Rose dashed inside with a whoop and the adults all shared amused shakes of their heads. Children were children whether magical or not, and all four were parents.

Wendell and Monica followed Rose into the house, but Hermione stayed on the driveway. Severus stood beside her but although Hermione’s gaze was on Rose’s art, Severus could see that her attention was elsewhere.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath as though she had to breathe around tears.

“Were we wrong? All those years ago, I mean. She could be with family, friends. She would be with people who would understand her brilliance. Not be reduced to this.” She gestured to the chalk art.

Severus turned Hermione to face him, gently pushing on her chin until she was looking him in the eye. “Sure, they might know that aconite, monkshood, and wolfsbane are all the same plant. They might know how to use asphodel to make a sleeping draught. But they couldn’t love our girl any more than your parents do. And even if-” he held up a hand to stop Hermione’s interrupting, “Even if they don’t know how they’re related, they love their granddaughter. And that’s worth a thousand Weasleys.”

“There might be a thousand of them by now,” Hermione chuckled. “And I know you’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Severus. I’m not usually so…”

Her eyes grew wide and Severus chuckled. “Hmm. Mood swings, melancholia, and a bit slow in the brain. Goodness, but doesn’t that remind you of when you found out Rose was on the way?”

“No, I couldn’t be. I’m not- We’re not-”

Rose popped out of the house. “Mom, Gram says that the burgers are almost ready but she wants you to set the table.” Rose surveyed her parents then slowly her gaze traveled down to rest on her mother’s flat stomach. Her head quirked for a moment, then she nodded and smiled. “My brother would like to be named Hugo. Now come on!”

Severus and Hermione’s jaws dropped in unison. They stared at the empty doorway, then each other, then to Hermione’s stomach.

“I… What just-”

Severus cleared his throat. “Well. I had been teasing, but that answers that.”

“Oh come on, Severus; you don’t honestly think that-”

“She’s been performing magic since the day she was born. Of course I believe that she can sense her brother. And who are we to question it?” He pushed Hermione gently toward the house. “Let’s go eat before your dad takes over the burgers. Heaven help that man but he can’t cook to save his life.”

* * *

Some time later, Hermione leaned against Severus’ chest as he spoke to her mother. They were seated on a low bench next to a firepit in their backyard, around which Rose and Wendell were kicking a ball back and forth in an imitation of football. Fireflies dodged around them and frogs chirped in the pond down below. A soft breeze blew cool around them and Hermione snuggled deeper into Severus’ arms with a happy sigh.

Yes, Sundays were special. And every day she spent with her family moreso.


End file.
